The Camp

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Ruins, Jun 1, 2013.

  1. Nixon just recently went from being the most hunted man in the world to free, the change in circumstances had filled his mind and body with the adequate nourishment needed. Running and fighting was all he knew, living his life either in heated combat or hidden in shadows was what gave him some of his mental and physical traits he now carrys on his shoulders. This turned him into who he is today, someone who's standoffish having trust difficulties as well as being an individual who could give one hell of a fight. Now, abusing his freedom the young Secta is found in a small Tavern or Drinkery located within the village which is now his sanctuary. Sitting at the farthest table to the back of the room his whereabouts are quite secreted; those who walk in through the door might not see him immediately.

    (Will let you post first Bro, already established the general whereabouts of Nixon; your character doesn't know he's in there though so you can't converse with him right away.)
    (Up top is the village)

    (The Tavern)
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  2. DarKry crossing a small village feeling worn out from his traveling looking for work as a mercenary his clothes hidden vaguely by a black cloak like robe casually flowing at the ends dragging from the scarf like wrapping around his neck along hiding his face some,most noticing his piercing red eyes drawing attention to them. His head looking toward the tavern thinking he could use something to drink; His mind still thinking of what to drink walking casually to the tavern with a spaced out look on his face,not seeing the small stairs to the taverns door tripping over the step yet uses his right hand to catapult himself from falling to landing like a cat on the top stair. DarKry sighed as he felt ashamed of his fail opening the door slowly walking inside the tavern his eyes directly looking to the bartender,approaching the bartender he would sigh once more and open the cloak pushing it to hang over his shoulder's as he sat on a stool asking the bartender for a drink.
  3. Nixon had traveled to many places over the years, most of those locations however were still unfamiliar to him due to the brief stay; there were reasons for his ever so swift departure. He was once highly desired, not seen as a living life form he was someone's trophy, a fucking item to them. Being this prize caused for his hunt, his escape from the douche bag scientist put a bounty on his head high enough to purchase anything and everything in the world with no worry of spending it all. Yes, the reason for his freedom is due to a well thought out scheme that busted him out of the confine. Contriving the smooth successful procedure had in the end pissed the guy off making him hire the best hunters in the world, the one to bring him back was the one to earn the cash. Every last one of them had failed, the guy in the white coat appointed them on an assignment that became their death wish the very second they accepted. Now, because of this Nixon's demeanor has changed in many ways. His trust towards others is thin as a hair.

    A couple years later and here sits the young lad in a tavern located within Lestifera, his age no longer somewhere around 17 but rather 19 or 20. Everything about him is reformed, his physical appearance quite stunning in a good way. He still comes off as being younger than he should but that's something to expect from a Septa, or from him any way; he's still the only known Septa on earth. Being one of a kind can be hard for some, especially a species but nevertheless he still gazes off into the light where a brighter outlook sits. Dressed leisurely in a red fur shoulder puff, white scarf, sleeveless tank top, black arm wraps, blue jeans, and high top Adi Rasta kicks he could be spotted at a table in the farthest left hand corner of the tavern, (His appearance seen on the first page of At first glance he doesn't seem harmful but once approached an individual could notice four weapons settled on his body in easy to reach areas; each utensil for fighting was specially made for him.

    "I wonder what I'll run into today?" His minds words unheard by anyone else shuffle through his head, he usually thinks to himself quite a bit. Spontaneously pushing the chair backwards Nixon elevates his left leg, his aim is to place his foot on the edge of the oak table which is completed in a matter of seconds.. Once his foot stops at the destine point of interest he leans the seat back making the legs on the front rise off the ground, all the weight shifts to the back two; because he's light he's able to pull this off. Now reclining back he watches as an unfamiliar face walks in through the door, questions start to rise in his head. "Who is this clumsy individual and where is he from?" Nixon silently states as his two tone blue and green eyes lock onto the body like a heat sinking missile. When he gets a target in his psyche he cant get it out, it takes a long while for his brain to jump off the topic; this could be days. Subconsciously his head tilts to the left slightly causing blonde hair to fall away from his head, he's clearly confused yet curious all at once.